Misery
by Someone Who Isn't Me
Summary: The year is 1858. Rebecca Walter lives a quiet life in Western Missouri, trying to ignore what is happening in the outside world. Then two strange children show up at her door...


Rebecca Walter added a log to the fireplace, prodding it with the poker until it was ablaze. Sighing contentedly, she settled down into the armchair Frank had built for her the year before he died. The thought of him came to her mind, unbidden, and she forced herself to push it away. There was no sense in dwelling on painful things. For years, she had been better off than many frontier wives who had to tolerate marriages to men they were indifferent to. The sorrow she'd felt at Frank's death was only fair; it was the price she had to pay for loving him.

It had been seven years now since that had happened, and Rebecca knew she would be a widow for the rest of her life. She was getting on in years, the age beginning to gray her hair and weave webs of wrinkles across her face. Though she didn't want to admit it, even to herself, she was getting rather lonely. The cabin Frank had left her was deep in the west side of Missouri, and the nearest neighbors lived over a mile away.

Rebecca sighed quietly, the sound seeming louder than it was because of the lack of other noises in the cabin. Leaning back in the armchair, she allowed herself to close her eyes.

_I'll just sleep for a moment_, she thought. _Then it will be time to make a dent in those dirty dishes. _

It seemed that she had only just closed her eyes when she was jerked awake by a knock at the door. _Visitors! For me? And what could someone be doing here at this time of night?_

Rebecca stood up, joints popping, and made her way to the front door. She put her eye to the edge of the frame and peered through the narrow crack that separated it from the wall. She couldn't see anyone in the darkness, but thought she heard a child's whimper from the threshold.

She automatically reached for the door, compassion momentarily overtaking common sense. Then she stopped herself and thought for a moment. Was it really wise to be letting in strangers? They could be some kind of ruffians or criminals who lured unsuspecting women with captured children. Stranger things had happened on the frontier…

"Who's there?" she called through the thick wooden planks.

"Please, Ma'am, I need some help." The voice sounded like that of a young girl, high-pitched and trembling. "My brother's been hurt and I can't be alone with him."

Rebecca's maternal instincts won over. She'd never been able to have children of her own, but she had always harbored a soft spot for youngsters. After undoing the deadbolt with shaky fingers, she pulled open the door and took a look at the children that had showed up at her cabin.

There were two of them; a girl and a boy. The girl was older, looking to be about eight or nine. Her long brown hair was tangled around leaves and small branchlets, and a thin white nightgown was the only thing protecting her from the November wind. The boy, probably her brother, was an even sorrier sight. He was around four years old, or perhaps nearer to five. His clothes were dirty and torn, and he was bleeding from a dozen cuts and scratches that covered his face and arms.

The worst wound lay on his left cheek. It was deeper than the others, probably inflicted by a knife. This cut was still oozing crimson, but its severity wasn't what initially caught Rebecca's attention. Was that a _word_ carved into the little boy's face? She could make out an S, an L, an A, a V… Why, it seemed to be an attempt to spell "slave"!

"Come inside," said Rebecca, motioning toward the warm interior of the cabin. She shook her head in disgust. _Who would do such a thing to a small child?_

The girl walked in, looking around the cabin warily before seeming to settle down. The boy followed her in, sucking his thumb. He always walked at least two steps behind the girl, as if he didn't want to get too close to her.

"Thank you," the girl said politely, looking down at the floor. The boy was silent, but he edged toward Rebecca and stood by her side.

"What happened to you?" Rebecca asked. "Where are your parents, and what are you doing out here at night?"

"M' dad's in Washington," the girl mumbled. "Trying to straighten some things out."

"But don't you have a slave or a housekeeper? Surely he couldn't have left you two children alone!"

"No slaves!" The boy said fiercely, taking the thumb out of his mouth. "Don't got them, and I never will!"

Rebecca looked at him again and winced at the sight of his lacerated face. "You stay right there," she reassured. "I'll go get a washcloth and clean you up."

She was already turning toward the kitchen when the girl called her back. "Wait!" she said. "I'll come with you. I can't be alone with him."

"And why is that, child?"

The girl hung her head again and stared at the floor. She shifted from foot to foot, obviously nervous or ashamed about something. "Well, you see, Ma'am, I'm kind of mad. Like, crazy. Touched in the head." She made the universal motion for insanity with her hand. "I love Kenny, I really do, but sometimes I really want to… to just beat some sense into him."

Rebecca didn't really know what to think. The girl seemed to be implying that she'd been the one to injure her brother, but she seemed so innocent and helpless. More like a victim of some terrible event than its perpetrator. How could this angelic-looking child carve "Slave" into a little boy's face? Deciding not to ask the girl any more about her brother –after all, there was no telling what she would do when pressured – Rebecca opted for a safer line of questioning.

"So what is your name?" she asked, finally fetching the washcloth and dipping it in a bucket of water.

The girl looked up and gave her the ghost of a smile. There was something _old_ in her eyes, not quite ancient but definitely not becoming of a child.

"I'm called Misery," she said. "That's been my life since Kenny was born, and things'll only get worse when the war begins.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: Someone said they don't get how it's about Hetalia, so I'll explain... It's Hetalia because the kids are Missouri and Kansas. I wrote this for extra credit in history class, and I know the teacher would get the reference to "Bleeding Kansas". And I personally live in Kansas near the border with Missouri, so people from my area would get that "Misery" is a reference to Missouri because we sometimes call it that :P<p>

Sorry if the comparisons don't make sense for someone who (probably) doesn't live in Kansas and isn't currently taking a US History class. This is a really vague fanfic, but it's kinda related to Hetalia so I'll keep it on here.


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